Hundreds of Thousands of Days to Day

Let’s say an ordinary day,
Just a few thousand years ago—
What have we got here? Probably,
You’d be living in close contact

With your own cooperative
And contentious group of people,
Your family, kin, your village,
Or your baked, mudbrick neighborhood.

The weather would be the weather
And familiar for the season.
This day’s all the rhythms you know,
The usual activities—

Fletch the arrows, dig up tubers,
Bake the bread, sit down to the loom,
Scan the horizon for omens.
Swap some gossip. Quarrel a bit.

Go to your habitual spot
To nap or to relieve yourself.
Scratch. Daydream about something fine.
Concern yourself with what’s to eat.